


Sacrament

by Fyre



Series: Inverse Omens [6]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Dark Magic, Demon Aziraphale (Good Omens), Reverse role AU, Soft Boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:06:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23515900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: When an unexpected prayer reaches Crowley's ears in the city of Regensburg, she finds herself faced with her worst nightmare.Part of theInverse Omensuniverse
Series: Inverse Omens [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1482338
Comments: 99
Kudos: 134
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spookyghost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyghost/gifts).



> Thanks to the lovely SpookyGhost, I got to write this tasty little Inverse Omens historic AU as my Fandom Trumps Hate fic :) Y'all know how much I love my Inverse lads and, while this is technically an AU from start to finish and doesn't fit within their wee canon, it still would have played out like this :)

The hum of a prayer reached Crowley’s ears even though she was a long way from the city.

Drawing the world around her, she moved. Prayers reaching so far were uncommon, especially ones that rang out so clearly. That usually meant someone very holy or someone in direst needs. Quite often, both.

The city gates of Regensburg were already closed for the night, but that made no difference as she spread her wings and launched herself over them. Lamps were lit, the soft glow through the narrow gaps in shuttered windows letting a little warmth out into the chilly evening.

Crowley hurried on, her slippered feet soundless on the cobbled roads.

There.

In an alley, not far from the river’s edge.

She spread her wings, the soft light of them illuminating a fallen man. He flinched, raising a bloodied arm to shield his face, making her frown in surprise. Humans rarely noticed divine envoys walking among them. And if he could see her, then he could hear her.

“It’s all right,” she said as gently as she could. “I’m not going to hurt you.” She approached, the deep red cloth of her dress rustling against the ground as she sank down to one knee. “Will you let me help you?”

“I called for help,” the man said, his voice thickened and slurred, not with drink but by some other cause. His hair was matted to his head with blood and his clothes… he was only wearing a shift. No tunic or hose or anything else. Barefoot, bloodied and fearful.

“And I came,” she replied and that… that should’ve been when the alarm bells started ringing. What he’d said. How she’d replied. He wasn’t speaking the local language. He wasn’t even speaking any _human_ language. He was speaking a language spoken before the world began.

The man lowered his arm.

Crowley stared at him, then gave her eyes a rub and stared again even harder. “Oh,” she said. Nah. Not said. Squeaked. Croaked. Yelped, even. Yeah. Yelped. Good word for it. “Shit!”

The living breathing human stared back at her blankly as if he didn’t understand.

The living breathing human with Aziraphale’s face.

____________________________

The wind rattled the shutters outside and Crowley lifted the copper kettle off the small fire, carrying it over to the table.

There had been no question of abandoning the human in the alleyway, not until she worked out what the Heaven was happening, so she gently but firmly ushered him to an inn that miraculously had a private upper room for guests. Another flick of her fingers guaranteed no one questioned them, not even the young maid who bustled in with food and drink.

Crowley poured some of the water from the kettle into a bowl, miracling up a cloth, and turned to face the human that… couldn’t be Aziraphale.

“I’ll clean you up,” she said in the local language, just to be sure, to be certain, but when he looked confused, she repeated it again in the most ancient of languages.

He nodded cautiously, then winced as she started gently sponging the blood from his hair and skin. It had trickled down from a lump on his head and – as she ran her cloth gently over it – she let a whisper of a miracle heal the wound, easing the pain and spreading gently through his messy, swollen brain.

“What happened?” she murmured.

“Strange creatures,” he replied, his round-pupiled eyes so wrong in his face. “Like us but not.” Like _us_. That… couldn’t be. “Speaking strange words. They had staffs.” He looked down forlornly at himself. “I had more than this. They must have taken it.”

Crowley’s heart twisted. If the man had been dressed half as richly as Aziraphale usually dressed, then no wonder people saw him as a target. In this time, he probably had furs and velvets and jewels all over.

“What’s your name?” she made herself ask.

He frowned as if it was some kind of trick question and rubbed gingerly at the vanishing bump on his head. “I… don’t know.” His terrifyingly human eyes rose to her face, the pupils wider and darker. “Everything is…strange. Fuzzy at the edges.”

He was trembling, she realised. Humans sometimes did that after a shock. And… and if he was Aziraphale, what was more shocking than suddenly being a _human_? She dropped to her knees at once beside the stool, steadying him with an arm around his shoulder.

“Eat something,” she urged. “Or drink. You need to be warm and fed.”

Mutely, he reached out, picking at the platter, but his hands were trembling so much, he barely managed a couple of bites from a chicken leg before it slipped from his fingers.

Bed, she decided at once. Lying down would be easier. A snap of her fingers unfurled the covers of the bed and without any effort, she scooped him up, carrying him over to it. And bugger Heaven if they reproached her for too many miracles for a single human.

“Rest,” she said softly, covering him up with the blanket, but Christ in Heaven, his hands were ice cold and the room wasn’t warm enough for any good use. She rubbed at his fingers and his palms, swearing under her breath, as those worried, confused eyes watched her.

“You’re upset.”

Her lips thinned to a line. “Worried,” she said, which was definitely one of the lovely cocktail of emotions running through her panic system. Small useful glimmer of light – when faced with a human in trouble, her own worries always immediately moved to the backburner. Didn’t need to worry about it. Not now. Not yet.

He squeezed her hands with his icy ones. “Don’t worry, my dear,” he slurred the words. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

His eyes slipped closed and for a brief, heart-stopping moment, she waited, terrified, until his chest rose and fell with a steady series of breaths.

Thank God for that…

But… but he was still cold and he had called her ‘my dear’ which only one person had ever called her and even if he _was_ anatomically human, what kind of human went around speaking the ancient angelic tongue and calling her ‘my dear’? It had to be Aziraphale. Somehow, by some weird and impossible curse or trick or miracle or s _omething_.

Crowley stared at him for probably a bit too long to be considered normal, then sighed and hiked up her dress to climb over him and tuck herself behind his back, unfurling a wing to cover him properly, the black down warmer and thicker than the blankets on the bed.

The possibly-Aziraphale made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a small contented little groan, shifting and – ah, this might be a technical problem – wriggled back to tuck himself snugly against her, his entire body curved around hers like a second skin.

Discreetly, she braced her hand against his side and tried to inch back a little bit, but ran immediately into the wall.

Well. Shit.

Under her hand, his ribs rose and fell again and – for no reason she could put her finger on – she thought of Rome. Another room, she supposed. Another bed. Only this time, she was awake and he was asleep and she… could just leave. She _could_.

And under her hand, she could feel the places where blood had dried on his shift.

Crowley rolled her eyes ceilingwards. “Bet you’re loving this,” she muttered, twisting her other arm up to pillow her head. The hand on maybe-Aziraphale’s side remained there. She could feel some hairline fractures in the ribs. Slid her hand along them, gently healing, then over to his sternum to check for further damage. Only bruises, which was–

The human shifted sleepily and wrapped his arm around hers, pulling it close against his chest like a security blanket.

“Oh bugger me backwards,” Crowley groaned, her hand useless pinned snug and warm against the throbbing human heart.

At least, she thought, she would be too distracted by the unfamiliar heat and pulse so close to her that she wouldn’t fall asleep.

Funny how wrong she could be.

For once, it wasn’t a nightmare that jolted her awake, but a low, insistent muttering. Blinking, puzzled, she opened her eyes. It took a moment for recollection to catch up and remind her why there was current a human tucked against her, his whole body curled and tense.

And more confusingly, why that human was muttering something that sounded like a shopping list.

Specifically, she noticed, trying to smother a yawn, a list of foods that she knew for a fact that Aziraphale definitely didn’t like. In… wait. He was talking in a multitude of languages. That was a good sign, wasn’t it?

“Aziraphale?” she murmured cautiously.

The man ricocheted off the bed as if he’d been struck by lightning. He _tried_ to do it the normal way, but with the combination of his shift, her wings, the blanket, a footstool near the bed and everything, he crashed down on his arse on the floor, still-human eyes wide and panicked, and – surprisingly – his face bright red.

Movement between his splayed knees drew her eyes irresistibly downwards and she yelped, flushing as red as his face and her dress.

“I’m sorry!” Aziraphale exclaimed, clamping both hands over his groin. “I was trying to make the bloody thing go away, but–”

“You’re human!” Crowley exclaimed, trying to ignore the flaming embarrassment in her face and… and _that_. More important and not _that_ things to think about. “I– I didn’t know if it was you or not!”

Aziraphale pulled his legs up, hiding the very prominent bulge at the front of his shift. “Well, obviously,” he mumbled self-consciously. “Satan’s balls, angel, can you give me a blanket or something?”

“Oh! Right! Yes!” She grabbed the blanket off the bed and – making sure to stay at a respectable distance – held it out to him.

For a split-second, amusement crossed Aziraphale’s face. “It’s not about to bite you,” he said as he wrapped the blanket around him like a tent.

“You were the one who jumped off the bed like you were spring-loaded,” she retorted hotly, folding her arms.

He cleared his throat. “Yes. Well. I didn’t think you’d react too well to finding a… physically excited human tucked against you.”

Crowley sat back down gingerly on the edge of the bed. “S’true,” she agreed, searching his face. “What _happened_?”

His lip curled. “ _Humans_.” He pulled the blanket more snugly around him, a shiver running through him. “They keep on playing with magic and some of them get… lucky.” He glanced over at the banked fire, then rose on unsteady legs to go over and sit beside it.

Crowley rose, following, dragging another blanket from the bed. “A summoning, then?” she asked, bending to drape the second blanket around him.

He looked up gratefully and nodded. “This fellow had– did something I’ve never seen before.” He prodded at the fire, then snapped his fingers, hissing when nothing happened.

“Let me,” Crowley murmured, a snap of her fingers making the embers glow back to life, snapping and popping. She sat down cross-legged, an arm’s length from him. “What kind of thing?”

“The incantations,” Aziraphale murmured, gazing at the flames “The circle had– you know those damned books Solomon liked writing? It looked like something from those.” He held out a hand to the flames. “I thought it was just an everyday summoning, but next thing I know, I’m too warm, light-headed, the world is all out of focus, I’m in a street I don’t know and for the first time in my existence, I don’t know _exactly_ where I am.”

“Shit,” Crowley breathed. That sounded… terrifying.

“Mm.”

“And then you got robbed?”

Aziraphale nodded, pulling his hand back inside the blanket. “Those little bastards will rue the day they lifted their cudgels,” he growled, which didn’t sound half as intimidating as usual, without the undercurrent of a rumble from his chest.

Crowley scooted a little closer, reaching out to squeeze his arm through the blanket. “What can I do to help?”

Those unsettlingly human eyes met his. “Dearheart, you _know_ you can’t help me. I’m a _demon_.”

“Ah, no!” Crowley held up a finger. “At this very moment, you are very much not a demon. You’re a human who is need of divine assistance.” She gave him a quick, bright smile. “No one can say I’m helping a demon at _all_. If anything, I’m helping outwit an evil demon-summoning sorcerer.”

One side of Aziraphale’s mouth crooked up. “You really do have quite the knack for finding a loophole in a situation, don’t you?”

She made a face at him. “I’m just stating the facts. If there’s a dangerous demon-wrangling human–”

“Not wrangling,” Aziraphale interrupted. “Draining. Robbing. De… de-powering.” He made a sound of frustration. “I don’t know how to describe it, my dear. It’s as if every bit of my power has been stripped out and I have been left with nothing but my corporation and my memories.”

Crowley shuddered. “What did he do with them?”

Aziraphale met her eyes. “If the spell did as it was meant to, they manifested in him.”

Oh.

That.

That wasn’t good.

“You’re saying there’s a human running around with all the powers of a demon?”

“I have no bloody clue,” Aziraphale replied with a helpless shrug. “I only remember seeing the glowing sigils, then a voice and light and hands on me and… well, you found me, clearly.”

“Yeah.” Crowley frowned at the flames. “Do you remember the marks? That would be a starting point?”

“How so?”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “You don’t spend much time around the humans, do you?”

Aziraphale drew himself up, offended. “I spend enough.”

“Right,” Crowley nodded, “yeah, so which ones would use Latin spells and which ones would use Arabian spells?”

“Er… well, I don’t really spend much time discussing magic with them.”

Crowley pushed herself to her feet. “Lucky for you, I do,” she said, offering down her hand. “Now, I’ll get some paper and we’ll try and work it out.”

Aziraphale looked up at her, a painfully nervous look on his face. “You don’t _have_ to help me, darling,” he said. “I’d hate to get you into any trouble.”

She pulled a face at him and waggled her fingers. “Oh shush. I’m helping you because clearly you couldn’t find your arse with both hands and a map right now.”

“I _beg_ your pardon!” he huffed with mock outrage even as his ridiculously warm hand closed around hers and he pulled himself to his feet. “I’m _quite_ capable!”

“Quite,” she agreed, unable to fight the grin. “Not _very_.”

He knocked her elbow with his as he swept haughtily by to the table. “Ooh! Wine!”

Crowley smiled at the flames before turning. It was very comforting to know that even stripped of his powers, Aziraphale was still the same person he had always been.

_______________________________________

“That can’t be right.”

“Tis!” Aziraphale insisted, jabbing at the paper with his blunt finger. “M’the one who knows how to read.”

Crowley flashed an annoyed look at him. “I can _read_ ,” she retorted, “but I’m starting to wonder if you can write, because none of this makes any sense.”

The human peered at her, then at the paper. “S’the… the squiggly bit. With the liney bit.”

Crowley pulled the paper closer, staring at it. “This bit here…” She followed the curve of the outer rim of the circle. The symbols looked like Greek, but there was something off about them. “Are you sure that was the order?”

“Mm hm.” The wine jug scraped on the table as Aziraphale pulled it closer. With great care and deliberation, holding the jug carefully in both hands, he refilled his cup. “Little word bits all around the outside.” He said something in a dialect Crowley didn’t recognise.

“What was that?”

“S’the convocation of the Underworld.” Aziraphale hiccupped delicately behind his hand. “Some of the books of Hades or some…” He waved one hand vaguely. “Greek. Not new nice Greek. Old Greek. Goat-fucker Greek.”

“Old Greek,” Crowley echoed, tilting the page around and staring at it. Yes, technically, some of the letters – if she tweaked them a bit – would make more sense. And if he adjusted them for context and sentence structure and… “Oh. Shit.”

Aziraphale burped. “That,” he said with a wagged finger, “is rude.”

Crowley nodded distractedly, correcting the text around the outer circle, reading it with growing trepidation. “We need to find this human now.”

“Obviously.” Aziraphale sniffed gloomily. “And some more wine.”

“No!” Crowley exclaimed. “Aziraphale, we need to find the human because if he completes this ritual, that’s it. He has your powers indefinitely and you’ll be human permanently.”

Swaying, Aziraphale squinted at her. His eyes were wide and much darker than before, pupils deep and black. “That’s… not…. S’impossible, that.”

“So is a demon being stripped of their powers and trapped in their corporation!” Crowley retorted, panic crawling up inside her chest. If Aziraphale was trapped as a human, that meant he would be mortal and if he was mortal, that meant… “None of this is possible!”

Aziraphale blinked slowly at her. “M’a bit too drunk for this…” He scrunched his face up, making a strained grunting sound.

“Aziraphale…”

“Minute…” The human held up a finger, then scrunched his face again.

Crowley pressed her forefinger and thumb to her eyelids. “Aziraphale, you’re not a demon.”

“Oh. Fuck.”

Crowley lowered her hand to look across the table at him. “I told you not to drink so much.”

“Can you…?” He made a vague gesture with his eyebrows hopefully raised. “You know? Like we usually do?”

“Get the wine out of your system?” Crowley winced. “I… it might not be the same for humans. I mean, your body… ingests the stuff. It’s not– we don’t need food or drink, but now, you have a human body and it…”

“But I’m drunk,” Aziraphale said, wide-eyed. “I’m wossname… useless.”

It didn’t feel like a good idea. So much so that she went and fetched the chamber pot from under the bed and handed it to him.

“What’s this for?” he inquired, puzzled. “I don’t need to make water.”

“A precaution,” she replied, then pressed both hands to his shoulders and _pushed_.

Several minutes later, he was still making wretched noises, his head dipped over the bowl.

“Sorry,” she said sheepishly, patting him awkwardly on the back. “You _did_ ask…”

“M’going to die…” Aziraphale groaned into the chamber pot. “Killed by wine…”

The angel pressed her lips together, trying to hide a small smile. “It’s only a little vomiting,” she said, returning to her side of the table. “I’ve seen worse.”

Aziraphale glowered balefully at her over the edge of the pot, then gagged and ducked his head down again. While he was occupied, Crowley scratched down the text from Aziraphale’s sketch of the circle that had trapped him. Some of it was missing. And, of course, it was the critical part that detailed the final stages of the ritual.

Finally, Aziraphale set the chamber pot on the table and folded his blanket-decked arms on the table top, dropping his forehead onto them.

“Ugggggh.”

“All right?” Crowley asked cautiously.

“Ngh.” Aziraphale dragged his head up enough to peer at her, then squinted down at the paper. He unfolded one arm enough to drag it over with the end of his pinkie, reading through her rough translation. “Oh.”

“You see?”

“Mm.” He sat up, still swaying, then groped for the chamber pot again. “Really, _really_ shouldn’t have had that wine.”

Crowley very firmly and deliberately bit her tongue to keep from saying “I told you so”. After all, it wasn’t as if she could really judge someone for indulging in a drink or six after a traumatising night. “Do you remember what the last bit of the ritual is? Or anything that might give us a clue?”

Aziraphale dabbed at his mouth with the edge of the blanket, still looking a bit green around the edges. “Usually, rituals like this went back to the old traditions.” He met Crowley’s eyes. “You know the sort. Big knife. Lots of blood. Sometimes sheep. Sometimes… people.”

Crowley shuddered, recalling those days all too well. “Right. So we have a demon with human powers who will probably be looking for a human to sacrifice, because they get more points with the Hellish legions and he’ll want to do it as soon as possible. Pure one, usually.” She winced. “They used to like babies for that.”

“Mm-mm.” Aziraphale shook his head. “Rituals are specific about times.” He tapped the translation. “Incorporated some Resurrection nonsense in there. Morning of the third day. Not this morning, but the next morning. Dawn.”

Crowley breathed out a shaky breath. “Well… that’s better for us, isn’t it?”

Aziraphale gave him a _look_.

“You know what I mean,” Crowley said, waving a hand. “Yes, this is a temporary problem for you but at least we have time to stop it. If they completed the ritual before I found you, you’d be completely buggered.”

“True,” Aziraphale conceded. He was swaying again.

Crowley didn’t even bother asking. She just circled around the table and scooped him up as if he weighed next to nothing. “Lie down for a bit,” she murmured as she set him down on the bed again. “I’ll do a quick circuit of the town, see if I can see anyone going a bit loopy with demon magic.”

He caught her wrist. “He won’t have control, my dear,” he warned, the worry so much more visible in the soft blue of his eyes. “It could be dangerous.”

“And it’ll be much worse if he gets to keep them,” she reminded him gently. She pressed him down onto the bed, then miracled another cover – thicker and warmer – to drape over him. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She hurried over to the door, then paused and glanced back. “And try not to drink anymore wine while I’m out.”

Aziraphale made a pained face. “I shall never drink again.”

She couldn’t help laughing. “Well, that’s a load of bollocks,” she said. “I give it a week.”

“Angel!” he whined in protest. “You should be kinder to me. I’ve had a _terrible_ experience!”

She widened her eyes in an appropriate tragic expression. “Poor little Aziraphale.”

He huffed, tucking himself deeper into the cocoon of blankets. “You’re an awful beast.”

Crowley smiled and reached for the door handle. “And you love it,” she retorted and flicked some wards in place as she stepped out of the room and closed the door.

And a human’s whisper of a breath reached her ears like a prayer, making her cheeks pink. “I really do.”

______________________________________

“Nothing?”

Crowley dropped dejectedly onto the stool. She’d spent the night scouring the city limits, soaring above, scanning with both physical and celestial senses. Her wings ached and her head was thumping from lack of sleep – and her usual medicine. “Nothing. No unusual demonic activity. Not within the city or even within the rest of the region. I checked everywhere.”

Aziraphale looked so small and frail, wrapped up in the blanket on the bed. Though not as pale as he had been when she had departed in the small hours of the night, he still didn’t look as healthy as a human his age should. “Maybe he went further afield?” he said, worried.

Crowley shook her head. “I don’t think so. Until this thing is finished, he’s still connected to you. I don’t think he _could_ go far, even if he wanted to.”

Aziraphale nodded pensively. “Maybe he’s just keeping quiet and staying out of sight until he _can_ finish it. That way, he doesn’t draw any unwanted attention or put himself in any extra danger and neither Hell nor Heaven will be able to find him until it’s too late?”

That was exactly the concern Crowley had.

Once the ritual was finished, that was it. Game over.

“Maybe we can work our way back to where he might be,” she hazarded, twisting the length of her belt between her hands. “If we start where I found you, it has to be somewhere fairly close, doesn’t it?”

“It would make sense,” Aziraphale agreed. “I was turfed out pretty promptly.”

“Any carts or horses or anything? Or on foot?”

Aziraphale frowned, rubbing his knuckle along his chin. “Only on foot, I think.”

“Right!” Crowley got back to her feet. “So we go back to the place I found you and start walking you out from there to see if there’s anything you recognise.” She eyed him. “I mean, if you’re up to it. You don’t exactly look… well.”

He made a face at her. “Despite the fact you purged my system for me,” he said gloomily, “I still somehow managed to retain the hangover.”

Crowley really shouldn’t have laughed, but she couldn’t help it. “Are you serious? You’re _hungover_?”

He glowered at her. “Some sympathy would be nice. Not only do I have to piss in a bucket out of necessity, but I have this thumping…” He pressed his fingertip to the middle of his forehead, where a line was creasing between his eyebrows. “And don’t even _ask_ about the backache.”

Crowley’s smile softened a bit. Of course. All the trials and tribulations of a human body without any way to ease them. “Here,” she said, crossing the floor and stooping over him. Her fingertips pressed lightly to his temples, and – like a waft of cool air – she soothed what she could.

Aziraphale sighed with relief. “Oh, that’s _much_ better. Thank you, my dear.” He unravelled himself from the blanket, then grimaced at the dried blood and other stains on it. “I don’t suppose you happen to have some clothes I could use?”

Crowley nibbled her lip, studying him, then made a downward flourish with her hand.

Fresh linen replaced the shift, a warm golden-brown tunic – embroidered, of course – on top, taking him from bedraggled beggar to respectable gentleman at once. There was even a little fur around the collar. Nothing ostentatious, but enough to make him comfortable.

Aziraphale gaped down at himself, spreading a hand on the carved wooden buttons.

“I know it’s not as fancy as you’d normally have it,” Crowley said self-consciously, “but I didn’t want to go too flashy and draw extra attention.”

“No, of course,” Aziraphale murmured, tracing his fingers along the embroidered serpent patterned around his ribs. When he looked over at Crowley, it felt like someone had squeezed all the breath from Crowley’s lungs, the wonder and adoration rolling off the once-demon like perfume. “It’s perfect, darling. Truly.”

Crowley opened and shut her mouth a couple of times and managed to swallow around the lump in her throat. Demon emotions were different, tangible but mostly muted and contained behind a veneer of protection. Human emotions were… they didn’t… it was like the filter was taken off. Like being pelted with rocks. Only the rocks were made of pure, undiluted love and she staggered under the impact of them.

Her legs gave way and she sat with a bump, blinking helplessly at him.

“Angel?” Aziraphale dropped off the bed, catching her hands in his and… noted. Definitely _much_ stronger with contact and oh, that was something. “Are you all right?”

Crowley nodded, gently prying her hands out of Aziraphale’s. “Human emotions,” she squeaked. “A lot.”

Abruptly, colour flooded Aziraphale’s face. “ _Oh_!” He scooted back, squeezing his hands between his thighs, his eyes round, pupils widening. “Um. Yes. Well.” He cleared his throat. “Wh-what exactly were you feeling?”

She met his eyes, wondering if her face was as red as his. “Um.” She smoothed at her skirt. “You… there aren’t barriers. I… whatever you feel, I can pick up on it.”

Wide blue eyes stared at her in dismay. “Oh,” Aziraphale said. Sort of. More strangled really. Panicked. Croaky. “Er… can you– um– can you just ignore that? Pretend you… didn’t?”

Ignore pure unfettered love coming from the one person she’d never imagined could be capable of more than shameless lust and flirting.

“You–”

“Don’t!” He flapped a hand frantically. “You don’t need to say anything! I know! I _know_ , all right? I wasn’t – I didn’t – I never planned on you finding out! Just…” He gave her a hopeful, pleading grin. “Can we… pretend you didn’t feel anything?”

“But it’s–”

“ _Please_.” And that was where he cut the legs out from under her again, his face contorted in alarm and grief and so, so many emotions. She could feel them lapping against her awareness. Fear. Dread. Despair. Resignation. “I know I shouldn’t. Just… let it be.”

She nodded, drawing up some boundaries of her own to save him any more embarrassment. Even if she made them just a _little_ bit porous, because who wouldn’t want to feel even just a smattering of _that_ sensation while they could? Like warm and gentle rain. “I’ll put some shields up. You don’t need to worry about it.”

His expression brightened a little and he got to his feet, offering a hand down to her. “Shall we?”

Crowley wrapped her hand around his and hauled herself back to her feet, then dusted herself down. “Probably best to do it before everyone else is up and about,” she agreed. “I’ll get you back to where I found you and we’ll work from there.”

______________________________________

“This really isn’t very pleasant, is it?”

Crowley shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t think robbers pick locations for their quality.”

They were back in the alleyway, the buildings towering up on either side of them. By the faint early morning light, wet slurry shone between the cobbles and Crowley could still see the red stains of Aziraphale’s blood there too. She backed up a little way into the wider thoroughfare that ran across the alley entrance.

“They must’ve dragged you in,” she said, glancing around, as if there would be some clues lying around. “It’s a dead end, so you would’ve been on this street.”

Aziraphale trotted to her side, peering in both directions. “Ah! Yes!” He pointed upwards, away from the river. “I recognise that sign!” He hurried up the road towards a shop at the far end of the street, Crowley hurrying along in his wake. “There was something in the window that caught my…” He stopped in front of it, his face aglow. “Ah! That’s it!”

And she could guess what as soon as she saw the contents of the window. Through the bubbled panes, she could see the ornate, beautifully-gilded cover of a book. A prayer book. “Aziraphale…” she murmured. “Did… if you were drawn to that, did you remember what you were last night? Before they got to you?”

Blue eyes rolled at her and it looked far more dramatic with such small irises. “I’m not a complete idiot, darling. And I have a rather nice collection of religious tomes, but nothing quite as ornate.”

“You do?”

“Mm.” Aziraphale leaned closer, squinting through the glass, then rubbed his eyes with annoyance. “Oh, for Satan’s sake, everything is so fuzzy!”

Putting aside the thought of Aziraphale having books that could potentially do him harm, Crowley leaned closer, staring at his eyes. “Look at me for a minute…”

Aziraphale blinked owlishly at her – giving off a flicker of some much warmer emotion. “Why?”

She made a face, then tapped the bridge of his nose. A tiny pair of frames with polished lenses materialised, making his wide eyes look even wider. “Well, we’re not going to be able to find much of you are half-blind now, are we?”

Aziraphale touched the frames with a worried sound. “What do you mean half-blind?”

“Surely you don’t think all humans have exactly the same quality of vision?”

“Er…” He flushed and turned back to the window, then flinched back, surprised. “Damn! That’s– how did you do that?”

“S’all to do with the inside of the eye,” she explained, “And yours are better at seeing things that are at a distance.”

He adjusted the glass lenses on his nose. “So these are like reverse telescopes?”

She laughed. “Something like that.” She glanced in the window again. “But we’re not here to look for books. That’ll have to wait.”

He nodded, though she could sense the tinge of regret as he turned away from the window. “Right. Yes. Of course.”

A dozen almost-identical and increasingly busy streets later, they had circled back to the bookshop and Crowley’s heart was sinking by the moment, even though she tried her best not to let it show on her face.

Even if Aziraphale hadn’t been concussed when he was chucked out into the streets by the mystery magician, the combination of night time, poor vision and probably very reasonable disorientation had thrown him off completely.

“Fuck!” Aziraphale was apparently on the same page, growling through his teeth and whirling on the spot, searching the streets around them. “It was– I know I came– Satan’s sake, why do all these damned streets look the same?”

Crowley ran a hand over her face. “Maybe we can try a different tack,” she said, cautiously. “If you can describe the place you were caught in. Or if we can maybe find the people who–”

Aziraphale snarled – at least as much as he could with a human body – grabbing a rack outside one of the nearby shops and hurling it over, pots and glasses shattering across the cobbles. Shards glittered in the morning light and the shop keeper burst out with a cry of fury.

“Don’t even _think_ –”

Crowley cut the demon off, stepping in front of him, her back to him, and spread her arms. “It’s all right,” she murmured, fixing her eyes on the human. “An accident. You will be repaid for the damage. Please go about your business.”

The shop keeper blinked at her. “My wares,” he said. “That man–”

“Is out of your hair now,” she finished for him, unfurling her hand, a heavy purse lying in her palm. Heavier than it needed to be. Sometimes, inspiration came at the worst possible moment. “Accidents can happen.”

The man took the purse, peering inside. “Milady, this is too much.”

For that alone, she smiled. “That’s why you deserve to have it.” Before he could protest again – or push a handful of the golden coins back into her hand – she spun and caught Aziraphale by the arm, frog-marching him up the street as fast as she could. “I know you’re upset,” she whispered under her breath, “but we have to be discreet. We don’t know who our enemies are.”

He laughed, sadly and shakily. “Says the woman throwing around purses of gold coins in the very street where I was...” He glanced sidelong at her and Crowley allowed a flicker of the smile to cross her lips. The ripple of his awe tickled across her senses. “You intend to lure them out?”

“Something something mountain,” she replied, waving a hand vaguely. “Something something Mohammed.”

“You have a cunning turn of thought, my dear,” he murmured, “though you don’t need to put yourself in harm’s way on my account.”

“Oh, I won’t be the one put in harm’s way.” After all, if her plan worked and Aziraphale’s assailants came after her as well… well, bad children had to learn sharp lessons so they understood the mercy of salvation. She glanced at him, trying to ignore the blush that bloomed at his admiring expression. “We need to act natural, all right? We’ll find somewhere to eat or something and wait for word to get out and…” She flapped her other sleeve at him. “Stop looking at me like that!”

“I can’t admire your machinations?”

She made a face at him. “You know full well that wasn’t what you were admiring.”

To her relief, he turned away, but he also blushed to the roots of his hair. “Oh, hush.”

Fortunately, they had the distraction of the dozens of small shops and inns, which meant both of them could ignore the fact they both matched Crowley’s frock.

Once or twice, Aziraphale pulled her to a stop to admire something displayed on a stall or in a window – “for the look of the thing, my dear, if we’re… oh, what’s that phrase? Flashing the cash?” – and spent from her bottomless well of money, buying himself a flask for his belt as well as an ornate necklace studded with seed pearls and tiny garnets, which he promptly draped around Crowley’s throat.

“You’re being ridiculous,” she grumbled through a barely hidden smile, holding it in place as he fastened the heavy clasp.

“We have to look the part, angel,” he replied, beaming at her. “You look _lovely_.”

She swatted him, he laughed, and they continued on their way.

By the noon bells, they broke off the peacocking and found a table at an inn.

Crowley nursed a small mug of ale, twisting one of her braids around her hand, as she kept an eye on the people who were coming and going. Though not large, the inn had a steady stream of customers, a few of them as well-dressed and respectable as Aziraphale usually presented himself. Plenty of people of different stations as well, some sitting for a while, others only taking a drink, then leaving. A good place for a thief to spy out targets without drawing attention.

Aziraphale – bless him – groaned in delight over the fresh bread and bowl of rich stew in front of him. Crowley had noticed his stomach grumbling for much of their wandering, but he hadn’t complained so she hadn’t even thought to ask him if he was hungry. But of course, he was and of course, he hadn’t complained. Not when he already worried about being a burden.

“Feeling better for that?” she asked, as his spoon scraped at the bowl.

“Mm-hm.”

Something nudged her elbow and she glanced around. The clay platter with the remains of the bread was by her arm.

“You should eat something,” he murmured. “People might wonder, otherwise.”

She met his eyes, then eyed the bread. Broken bread. A very human way of sharing friendship. A small, helpless smile escaped. “You’re so sentimental.” Still, she picked up a piece of the bread, dipping it in his stew and nibbling on it.

He propped his cheek on his hand and gazed at her. “It’s what they do, isn’t it? Humans.”

The bread was still warm and she took another careful bite. Sprinkled with salt too. All the traditions. “Every culture has something like it,” she agreed, tearing smaller pieces of the bread and nibbling them one by one. “It’s a very human thing, sharing what little they have.”

An unexpected pang of emotion jabbed her, making her yelp.

“What?” Aziraphale looked around, wary. “Did you–” He cut himself off, a pained look sliding across his face. “Oh. Me again?”

“I’m sorry!” She rubbed at her brow, trying to seal her shields a little tighter. “You’re just– I don’t normally focus so much on one person and it’s– it leaks through.”

Aziraphale smiled, a thin brittle line. “Well… I suppose it’s one way to broach the topic, isn’t it?”

“You’re afraid,” she murmured. He nodded tightly. “Afraid we won’t find them?”

His eyes sank down to the platter and he shook his head. “No.”

“Afraid of…” Oh God. Of course. Of course that would terrify him, the master of indulgence and luxury and bombast and reflected glory. “Afraid of… just being human.” His whole face crumpled like wet cloth and at once, she reached across the table and took his shivering hands in hers. “I won’t let that happen.”

His eyes rose to hers. “Dearheart, you may not be able to stop it.”

She slid her hands down to grip his wrists, a solid anchor for him. “I _won’t_ let that happen,” she said, low and firm. “I will do whatever I have to, to get you back to normal.”

Even through the muffled veil of her senses, a much more familiar heated emotion peaked suddenly, and Aziraphale slid his tongue along his lower lip, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “You… really are tremendously strong, my dear,” he breathed out and she yelped, ripping her hands from his wrists, the imprint stark and white on his skin.

“Bugger!” She leaned forward, peering at them. “I didn’t break anything, did I?”

He shook his head, but took a slow, shaking breath. “No. Not at all. But… I think…” He cleared his throat. “We may need to linger here a little longer.”

She frowned. “But no one showed up ye–”

“No one,” he interrupted, “but some _thing_.”

She blinked at him, bewildered. Aziraphale pointedly nodded towards his lap, then met her eyes, his expression both sheepish and apologetic.

“Gah!” Crowley sat back on her seat. “Stop it doing that!”

“I didn’t make it _do_ anything!” Aziraphale retorted, cheeks flaming. “It does it by itself!” He rubbed at his wrists, ducking his pink-eared head. “You… seem to have an effect on me whether I want you to or not!”

Crowley could feel the heat accelerating up her face and wrapped her hands around her braids, yanking on them. “I always thought they were exaggerating,” she mumbled. “The humans. About that stuff.”

Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably. “Apparently not.” He fumbled under the table, pressing his hand down over it. “Satan’s balls, you’d think there would be an off-switch!”

Despite herself, Crowley had to hide her smile with her hand and forced herself to look elsewhere. Better laughing, she thought, about nonsense and human oddities than thinking about the other thoughts that were crowding together at the back of her mind. “I think it’s more on-off-on-off-on–”

“Angel!” Aziraphale yelped, sounding both scandalised and delighted, which – in Crowley’s relieved opinion – was far better than the shattered-glass sharpness of moments before. “I’m _appalled_.”

She made a face at him. “No, you’re not. You’re never appalled.”

“Well…” He waved his unoccupied hand, as if it might conjure up an answer, then hummed. “Yes, all right, I’m not. On this occasion, though, I _am_ impressed. Fancy you knowing something about _lewdness_.”

Crowley raised her eyebrows. “Which of us spends more time around humans?” she said dryly. “And which of us didn’t work out where babies came from until their second millennium?”

That got a laugh out of him, a smile too, and Lord, she was more relieved than she could say.

“You argue a fair point,” he agreed, shifting again and froze. Only a brief stillness, a serpent sighting prey, then his eyes came back to her face. “By the door, dearest. The young ruffian with the red tabard.”

Crowley didn’t even bother to look around. “Stay here,” she murmured and swept towards the door and back into the street, making sure to brush her fingers along her new necklace, smoothing it in place. She could feel the twinge of his alarm, but put it aside, focussing on the boy by the door. He followed. That was good. Other footsteps joined his as she drifted down the long street again. Three. Perhaps four.

Crowley reached out, wrapping her senses around their intent,

Young, reckless, greedy. Not even for food or anything. They were _laughing_.

Did they laugh, she wondered, when they beat Aziraphale? Did they laugh when they stripped him bare and left him bleeding – and could have left him dying – in the street?

She turned into that familiar alleyway, still dark and grim, and turned, waiting, the dark spill of her skirts matching a once-demon’s blood on the cobblestones. Her veil rippled against her cheek and she curled her fingers into fists as shadows filled the opening of the alleyway. Two remained by the entrance. Two moved closer. Grinning. Smug. One with a cudgel.

“Are you lost, lady?” Ah. The ringleader. Broad and stocky and pointedly unarmed. With fists as big as his, he didn’t really need weapons. “Do you need a friend?”

Crowley smiled at him. The wind picked up, whirling around the alley like a localised hurricane. Didn’t take much to move air molecules, to make your skirts and sleeves billow, your veil swirling out around you like the wrath of God herself. Or dance sparks along your exposed skin. Or – if you were feeling a bit on the testy side – freeze four suddenly-terrified humans to the spot.

“No,” she said, and opened all of her eyes. “I really don’t.”

____________________________________________

“There you are!”

Crowley looked Aziraphale up and down, clearly… recovered enough to come out of the bar. That glance made colour flame in his cheeks again and she made a face at him. “You should’ve waited inside.”

“We heard screaming,” Aziraphale retorted. “Everyone was very alarmed.”

Crowley reached up and demurely adjusted her veil. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t hear a _thing_.” She glanced around, then caught him by the elbow. “But I do have a lead and we should probably bugger off before anyone starts asking questions.”

“Questions about how a sweet and virtuous lady in red scared the seven hells out of a few innocent little lads?” Aziraphale inquired as he trotted alongside her, looking far too amused. “Honestly, darling, I’m not even… anything at the moment, and I could feel the backwash.”

Crowley froze. “You could?”

“Mm.” He wrinkled his nose and Crowley looked around frantically, hurrying him a few steps further up the street. “It’s very odd,” he added. “I – along with everyone else in the bar – had this sudden urge to fall to my knees and not for the usual reasons at–”

Crowley shoved him sideways and sent him careening through an open doorway, praying it was an inn and not someone’s house. His surprised curse cut off as something crashed to the floor and smashed.

And not a moment too soon.

The hum of celestial manifestation didn’t just come from one side, her heart thumping against her ribs. One in front. One behind. That usually meant–

“ _Again_ , Raziel?”

Crowley twisted her hands round the girdle at her waist. “Gabriel.”

The Archangel merged out of the bustling people, clad in pristine violet-threaded white silk and velvets. “You know the rules about divine manifestations. Only one person at a time.” He sighed and shook his head. “We have strict rules to limit it. We don’t want too many sainted idiots running around.”

As much as she wanted to play it cool, Crowley couldn’t help glancing back over her shoulder at the creeping pervasive press of another angelic presence. Golden teeth glittered and she whipped back around to face Gabriel, heart thundering. Sandalphon. Heaven’s bloody Enforcer. That wasn’t a good sign.

“I was looking for someone. It was the only way I could get information,” she said, tongue like a rock in her mouth.

“Looking for someone?” Gabriel scoffed. “You’re an _angel_. You can find anyone you need to find.”

She heard a clatter from the doorway, saw a glimpse of pale hair that immediately vanished back into the shadows. Thank Her for that. Aziraphale was smart enough to recognise trouble when he saw it. “It’s – there’s a sorcerer somewhere in the city.”

“Yes.” Gabriel raised his eyebrows. “And? If he’s due a blessing, you’ll find him. If not, you won’t. No need to go sanctifying a group.”

“But he’s planning on _stealing_ celestial powers,” Crowley protested. “It could mean a lot of trouble for us if he figures out how to do it!”

“Really? You’re afraid of a little human magic?”

At her back, Sandalphon chuckled. “What are they going to do? Sprinkle you with holy water?”

Crowley shot a glare over her shoulder, unsurprised when Gabriel laughed. “It’s serious! Humans can make some powerful–”

“Oh for Heaven’s _sake_.” Gabriel snapped. “We know. You love the humans. You give them credit for all these…” He waved around dismissively. “What do we have to fear in human magic? It’s all make-believe anyway.”

“But–”

“That’s _enough_ ,” Gabriel’s voice turned hard. “You’re forbidden from carrying out any more miracles in the city, do you understand?” He shook his head “God only knows how much paperwork this little fiasco is going to generate.” He wagged a finger at her as if she was a naughty child. “You can transport yourself to get out of the city, but after that, this place is off-limits until otherwise confirmed. Am I making myself clear?”

Crowley clenched her teeth, but nodded. “Crystal.”

Gabriel’s pearly smile returned. “Good.” He caught her by the shoulders and squeezed just a little too hard. “Don’t hang around, okay?”

And like that, they were both gone and Crowley let out a shuddering breath. “Shit…”

“Psst!”

She glanced over towards the doorway. “They’re gone,” she said. “You can come out.”

Aziraphale hurried out, reaching out to clasp her arm. “Are you all right, angel?” He didn’t even seem all that annoyed about the stains down the front of his tunic or the tiny shards of pottery clinging to his sleeve.

“Mm.” She reached out to brush the mess off his clothes. “Sorry about that. They… don’t like it when I get carried away.”

He gently took her hand between his. “I heard.” His skin was so much warmer than usual, the pulse of mortality throbbing hotly under his skin.

Mortality.

God, she wanted to be sick. She– they’d given an order and if she disobeyed– anything more than transporting herself and they’d come down on her like a ton of bricks and she remembered icy waters and the scent of charred paper and the taste of blood.

Aziraphale must’ve recognised the emotion in her expression and forced a smile of his own. “Oh, don’t give me that look, my dear. I can manage. You don’t have to worry about me.” He lifted his other hand to touch her cheek and Crowley shivered when she realised she could feel moisture under his palm. Hot tears pricked at her eyes and she squeezed them shut, trying to will the stupid moisture away. “I’ll be _fine_ , angel. You know me.”

She nodded, grasping at his wrist, squeezing, trying to calm herself down. A demon of indulgence who relied on his powers so much and if she didn’t help, then by the next morning, he would be… be… this forever.

No.

Not forever.

That was the problem.

He needed help, because he didn’t have a clue how to be a human. For heaven’s sake, _she_ knew more about humans than…

“Oh…” She opened her eyes, staring at him.

Aziraphale frowned, puzzled. “Oh?” He cocked his head. “What’s ‘oh’?”

“I think I have an idea.”

Technically, yes, it was skirting dangerously close to disobedience, but they’d never _actually_ forbidden her from staying in the city for a bit longer. Only miracles and things. They’d never actually said _anything_ beyond miracles. So, if, perhaps, someone happened to do some things the same way as an average human did them without a hint of holy assistance…

“You know, my dear,” Aziraphale said dryly, “I can see the cogs turning. Would you perhaps like to share with the whole class?”

“I’m going to help you,” she declared, grinning at him.

“But you can’t–”

“But I can,” she interrupted. “The _human_ way.”

Aziraphale’s eyes were round as saucers. “I– but– won’t you– won’t they…” He shook his head. “But you’ll get in _trouble_.”

“No,” she argued, grin widening. “They only monitor my miracles and blessings.” She curled her fingers into quotation marks. “The ‘important’ things. They don’t give a fig if I do human things. They already think I’m weird, so they’ve stopped caring about that stuff.” She did a little hop on the spot. “I can help you find the people behind this and we can stop them, human-style!”

Aziraphale opened and shut his mouth a few times, then slowly, a smile tugged at his lips. “You,” he said, drawing her hand to his chest, “are incorrigible.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or insult, coming from you.”

He laughed, the sound vibrating under her palm. “Both?”

She nodded, then stepped back to a more appropriate distance. “We need to move, then. The ones who robbed you told me where you came from.”

Aziraphale hesitated, then offered his arm. “Milady?”

He was already having an awful day. What harm would it do to brighten things up a little bit? She slipped her arm through his, resting her hand on his forearm.

“This way.”

________________________________________

It had taken a few attempts to find their way to their destination through the labyrinth of streets, but finally, they stood in front of the right building.

“This… can’t be right,” Aziraphale murmured with a sidelong glance at her. “Are you sure they weren’t pulling your leg?”

Crowley shook her head. “They couldn’t have lied to me, even if they wanted to,” she said, though she had to admit that the place felt far too holy to have been the summoning site for anything, let alone a demon of Aziraphale’s level.

The Alte Kapelle – like almost all the churches in the city – had been there for a long time, the holiness sinking down through the stones. It had been repaired – again, like most of the churches – after the fires in the previous century.

She tugged on his arm. “Maybe there’s an adjoining building or something…”

They made their way down the length of the building and as soon as they turned the corner, Crowley yelped, the prickle of power crackling underfoot. “There!” She flapped a hand towards the newish tower. “It happened in there.”

Aziraphale frowned “You’re sure?”

She gave him a look. “D’you think I’d joke at a time like this?”

“No! Of course not!” His frown deepened. “But it’s _in a church_. I wouldn’t’ve been able to stand it.”

Crowley gave his arm a squeeze. “That place isn’t holy anymore.” She tugged him onwards, despite the singing of dark magic through her slippers. “We need to get in there. The door should be around the other side.”

“Dearest,” Aziraphale said carefully. “I don’t mean to tread on your toes, but what if our friend is in there?”

“But he isn’t,” she said. Obviously. “There’s no one in there just now.” And she remembered. “Oh. Yeah.” She glanced back. “I can tell that much. The magic is still there, but whoever did this to you isn’t. We’re safe for now.”

“Ah.” He sounded relieved. “Jolly good. Onwards then.”

They circled around the tower, heading for the door.

“Shit…”

“What is…” Aziraphale peered over his glasses. “Oh.”

Crowley stepped away from him to press her hand against the door, wincing. The metal ornamentation all over the must’ve been beautiful once, but someone – some _thing_ – had heated it to melting point, the lock and hinges solidified into trailing metal lumps and sealed shut. Nothing but a miracle was getting inside that way.

“Maybe you can go in through the church?” Aziraphale suggested. “I mean, the tower _is_ attached to the building after all.”

“And they won’t be able to come in after us,” she said, a flicker of hope rising inside her. “We’ll be safe in there too.”

“We?”

She slipped her arm back through his and smiled. “You’re not a demon anymore, remember? D’you fancy coming into a church with me?”

His face lit up. “I’ve always wanted to have a look,” he admitted. “I tried once or twice, but it does singe a bit.” They were halfway back around the building when he glanced at her. “What if he’s done the same to the other side?”

Crowley had privately been wondering the same thing, but she swatted his arm. “Try and look on the bright side! Maybe he just wanted to keep nosy people from poking around at the outside and didn’t even think about the inside.”

“Mm.” Aziraphale didn’t sound convinced.

Still, he _did_ smile when she detached from his arm to open the church door, pushing it wide. In the quiet gloom, the scent of incense filled the air and candles danced and glittered. “Well,” she said, offering her other hand to him. “Come in.”

His fingers curled around hers, tightening, and he stepped across the threshold, a small, explosive gasp of relief escaping him. “Oh!”

The building was practically empty, only a couple of people present. Both of them were busy cleaning the church and only gave them a passing glance as Crowley led Aziraphale into the body of the chapel. Daylight cut through the windows high in the wall, slanting down across two of the three aisles, casting a warm glow on some of the beautiful illuminated panels.

Aziraphale made a soft sound of admiration.

“It’s been here a long time,” she murmured, squeezing his hand, “in one form or another.”

He drew away from her, walking forward, spinning on the spot to drink in everything around him, awe and wonder all over his face. “The artwork,” he began, then gasped in delight. “The windows! And look, angel!” His eyes lit up. “It’s you!”

Crowley followed his direction and rolled her eyes with a crooked grin. A carved font stood close by, decorated with aspects of Eden and yep, there it was. A stern-faced, overly-muscular angel with a flaming sword. “Not a very good likeness, is it?”

Aziraphale clapped his hands in delight, crouching down. “And there’s me!” He ran his fingers along the curve of the serpent coiled around the tree. “How odd to think they have images of me in here but I could never see them before.”

“Well, you _are_ famous,” she said fondly, dipping her fingers in the font then flicking the water at him.

He flinched in confusion. “What’s that?”

She waggled her wet hand. “Holy water.”

He gaped at her. “ _No_.”

“Mm-hm.”

He scrambled up, staring into the font, then plunged his hand in to the wrist. The laugh that bubbled out of him sounded half-delighted, half-hysterical. “Look!”

“Once in a lifetime opportunity.” She glanced around the hall. “I think I can see the door to the tower. Do you think you could distract the other humans while I go and have a poke around?”

Aziraphale wiped his hand on his tunic. “Distract humans?” His eyes gleamed. “Oh, I have a few ideas.”

Crowley grabbed his arm. “Nothing too scandalous,” she warned. “If this is the right place, we’ll have to be able to get back in to stop the ritual.”

He widened his eyes innocently over the rims of his glasses. “My dear, I can’t begin to imagine what you’re implying.” He lifted her hand from his sleeve and dropped a kiss on her knuckles. “I’ll catch up with you at the door in five minutes.”

As he advanced on the two humans, Crowley hastily scurried towards the right-hand side aisle and down, drawing the light and shadow around her. Just a little bit. Usual trick to keep from being noticed. Hardly a miracle. Aziraphale, on the other hand, was taking full advantage of the acoustics of the place, his voice booming around them.

The door to the tower was tucked in an alcove just off the apse and she threw up a quick prayer of gratitude when she got close enough to see that the door and all its metalwork were intact. It came as no surprise to find the door locked, but at least the handle moved and there was a little bit of give.

She glanced back, then hiked up her skirt and unhooked the little pouch she always carried in a garter belt around her leg.

Technically, she didn’t need it, but sometimes humans panicked in the face of supernatural intervention. They panicked less at the sight of a woman with needle and thread. And didn’t even notice the other array of complicated metal things she had tucked in the pouch as well.

Kneeling down, she set to work on the lock with her pick.

Hefty church locks were a bugger and a half. A lot of them were purely decorative, but some – like this one – were sturdy and secure, solid enough to stop any little pleb from sneaking in and laying hands on valuable tomes and vestments.

With her ear pressed to the door, she closed her eyes, listening for the tell-tale click of tumblers moving. The bloody thing was stiff and heavy and she bit down a profanity when she felt part of the pick start to give when she jabbed at it in frustration. Right. No. Patience. Calm. Light touch. Best way, that’s what they’d always said. She took a breath, steadied her hands and slowly, slowly, started over again.

A crunch behind her several minutes later almost made her jump out her skin, whipping around like a startled cat.

Aziraphale waved. “Pardon me for asking,” he said, “but when did you learn to pick locks?”

She made a face at him, clutching at her heart. “I know a lot of things.” She turned back to the lock. “Where are the humans?”

“I paid them to go and get a drink so you could have some privacy communing with our Lord,” he replied amiably. “My poor wife, seeking God’s blessing on her barren womb or some such. There would be crying and it would all be very undignified and I would appreciate if they would bugger off until the next bells.”

Crowley snorted. “Well… not too scandalous, at least,” she said with grudging approval. Another crunch made her turn her head. “What on earth are you eating?”

“I found a biscuit tin,” Aziraphale said happily, holding up…

“Oh no…” She scrambled up. “Aziraphale, that’s not a biscuit tin!”

He frowned at the small round tin he had in his hand. “But it’s a tin and there are some rather nice wafers in it.”

“That’s the pyx for Holy Host!” she wailed. “You can’t snack on Jesus!” She recognised the damned twitch of his lips and groaned, pressing her face into his hand. “Look, put it back! You can’t eat them! Those were for the people who can’t make it to communion!”

Aziraphale chuckled. “The look on your face…”

She lowered her hand to glare at him. “Put. It. Back.”

He backed away, still laughing. “Really,” he said as he turned to head back into the church, “they shouldn’t leave the Jesus biscuits lying around!”

Crowley returned to the task at hand and several minutes later, the lock finally grated open. She got up and cautiously pushed the heavy door open. No magical defences, thank Heavens, but the tangible feeling of Wrongness poured out of the room, lapping against the holiness of the church like water against glass.

“Oh well done!” Aziraphale said behind her. “All with just a crooked bit of metal as well.”

“Having a few practical skills doesn’t hurt,” Crowley replied, looking back at him. “Do you want to stay out here? I can have a look around myself.”

He shook his head at once. “Better we both know what we’re dealing with.”

It should’ve been forbidding and grim, embracing all the stereotypes, but the tower room was flooded with warm afternoon sunlight, dust motes hanging in the sunbeams through the curved windows high up the wall. A few desks lined the room, as well as the staircase spiralling up around the wall, and there were a couple of heavy wooden chests, probably for the vestments, and one tall, broad wooden cupboard.

Crowley’s attention, though, was drawn to the markings all over the floor, her stomach curdling.

The intact summoning circle. Only one. Large enough to spread across most of the floor and still humming gently with power. The ritual hadn’t been completed and until it was, that _thing_ was a danger.

Aziraphale’s hands closed around her arms, pulling her back a step. “Don’t cross the boundary,” he said, his voice tense and furious.

“Didn’t plan to,” Crowley replied, mouth dry. “I can feel it.”

“It’ll suck you dry if you do,” he murmured, his chest warm and solid against her back. “That bastard. Didn’t care what he caught as long as he caught something.” He laughed sharply. “Do you think he was trying for an angel and missed?”

Probably. Possibly. Maybe?

Even proximity was making Crowley’s legs shake. “We need to go,” she breathed, “Somewhere else. Make a plan.”

“Inside the church?”

She shook her head. “I,” she confided in a whisper, “really need a drink.”

______________________________________________

A flagon of wine had helped take the edge off a bit, but they didn’t have enough money left – miracled or not – to indulge in more.

Her own pickpocket skills were shaky at best and Aziraphale’s corporation was showing more and more human frailties by the hour. He got out of breath when they walked uphill and she could see him wincing after going over on his ankle on a loose cobble.

So they sat on a wall in the sun, passing the flagon back and forth, though after a couple of mouthfuls, Aziraphale held up a palm to stop her passing it back to him.

“We need to plan, my dear,” he murmured. “I can’t– I need to keep a clear head. So should you.”

What she should do and what she wanted to do were very different things. Reluctantly, she stoppered the flagon again, setting it down between them.

“Did you get a good look at the circle?” she asked quietly. “Find the missing bits?”

“Mm.” Aziraphale folded his hands in his lap, circling one thumb around the knuckle of the other. “It’s as I feared. A sacrifice of some kind. It’ll have to be in the circle to seal the compact and close the powers inside him.”

“At dawn tomorrow?”

He nodded pensively. “That gives us an advantage. We know where he’ll be and when.”

Crowley twisted the trailing length of her girdle in her hands. “So we steal his sacrifice?”

“I don’t imagine he’ll be best pleased if we do that,” Aziraphale murmured. “I’m only human, you can’t use your powers and he’ll have… well… whatever he took from me.”

Crowley nodded unhappily, swinging her feet slowly back and forth. Even one miracle would have her whipped back to Heaven for another disciplinary and God, she really, _really_ wanted another drink. “Maybe,” she hedged cautiously, “if I do a miracle, they’ll show up and–”

“And be stripped of their powers as well?”

Crowley tried to picture Gabriel and Sandalphon suddenly stuck in human corporations. And some nasty little part of her wondered if it wouldn’t serve them right, even for a couple of hours.

But then, if it took their powers and poured them into the already-demon-fuelled human…

“Shit,” she mumbled and reached for the flagon again. Mercifully, Aziraphale didn’t stop her, and she made herself set it down after one mouthful.

Aziraphale got up, pacing back and forth. Limping she noticed. He must’ve really hurt his ankle. And that was within one day of being a human. There were so many parts of him that could be hurt or falter or be faulty.

“What do we have to our advantage?” he suddenly said, turning back to her. “He doesn’t know we’re onto him. He doesn’t know we know exactly what his ritual entails.”

She nodded. “He doesn’t know you’ve got a completely useless angel who can’t do anything to help apart from run–”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale snapped. “You’re not useless! And if you have to run…” He paused. “Hold on a moment.”

She scrambled to her feet. “I’m _not_ leaving you.”

He held up his hands. “No, no, I know that, but you _do_ have one opportunity to transport yourself, don’t you? That’s what they said, isn’t it?”

Crowley stared at him. “ _Oh_. Yes. _Yes_. He said I could use it to get out of the city, but I don’t think they’d check where I’d land! I could grab our man and drop him somewhere as far from the circle as possible so he can’t finish the ritual!”

Aziraphale shook his head at once. “Too risky,” he said. “You’d probably have to get _into_ the circle to get to him.”

Her heart sank. “Then what use is–”

“The _sacrifice_.” Aziraphale’s eyes shone. “I can go into the circle, distract him, get it to you and you get it out of there!”

“Leaving you with him!” she exclaimed. “No!”

“He won’t kill me,” Aziraphale said, a grin widening across his face. “I know these sorts – they won’t do anything to put their scheme at risk. As far as he knows, I’ll probably go straight back to Hell taking all my powers with me. I don’t think he’d want to take the chance.”

“He could still hurt you!”

Aziraphale grimaced. “Yes, that’s true, but if we don’t get the sacrifice out of there, I’ll be stuck like _this_. I can risk a few bumps and bruises if it means you can get the sacrifice clear.”

The angel stared at him, stricken. “I can’t leave you there. Not alone.” She frowned, twisting one of her braids around her hand. What if – what if I drop the sacrifice somewhere he can’t get it? Like somewhere holy, and then come straight back?”

“The church.” Aziraphale sighed. “You’re going to transport them into _that_ church? How do you know he won’t risk going after them if they’re so close? We don’t know how much holy places affect him before the ritual is finished.”

“Over to St. Peter’s, then,” Crowley retorted. “It’s not far. I can run back.”

Aziraphale touched her hands suddenly and she flinched in surprise as he gently unwound her braid from around her fingers. Oh. Right. Circulation. Yes. Good thing. “We get the sacrifice out. You get it to St. Peter’s and I run for the door. If I don’t make it out–”

“Don’t you _dare_ say ‘don’t come back for me’!”

He feigned outrage. “No! Come back for me! I’ll be fucked if you don’t!”

They stared at each and Crowley couldn’t stop the helpless, shattered laugh that escaped her. She dropped her forehead forward to rest on his shoulder. “I hate this.”

His other hand curled warmly over the nape of her neck, smoothing her veil against her skin. “I know. I can’t say I’m particularly enjoying it myself.” He sighed softly. “I think that’s the best we can do. Take arms, ready ourselves in the church through the night and stop him in the nick of time.”

She lifted her head to look at him, searching those worryingly human eyes. He looked tired.

“Do you think we’ll be allowed in the church overnight?” she asked quietly.

He shrugged helplessly. “That’s your world, dearheart, not mine. Do you think you can persuade them? Could you cry on command?”

Crowley searched his weary expression, the lines in his face that seemed so much deeper, the pallor and the tremor in his lips when he tried to smile. If he was stuck like this, if they failed, if the ritual was completed, then he would be like this and worse and… and…

Her eyes pricked. “Yes,” she said, brittle as chalk, “I think I can manage.”

___________________________________

Weeping and wailing, it turned out, could be a useful trick.

Crowley hadn’t expected the priests to get so agitated, bringing cushioned stools for her and her husband to kneel on, offering a blanket against the chill for her, extra candles should she need them and – thank God – bowls of warm food before she began her prayerful fast.

As soon as the priests hurried away, she handed her bowl over to Aziraphale, who had wolfed down both of them like a man half-starved.

By twilight, the building was shaded in silver and blue, the only sound the whisper of the wind and the snap and hiss of the candles still burning in their beds. Crowley brushed Aziraphale’s shoulder in passing and did a circuit of the church, pausing to check the door of the tower and whether or not their mysterious enemy had rematerialized inside.

No one was there, but the pulse of dark energy was stronger. Not long before it breached the circle, if the ritual wasn’t completed.

She padded back across to the far aisle and the small chapel where she was meant to be spending the night in prayer.

“Any sign?” Aziraphale murmured, rubbing his hands together.

“Not yet.” She crossed the floor to sit on the bench by his side. “Are you all right?”

He nodded. “Better for food.” She glanced pointedly at his hands and he winced. “A little cold, that’s all.”

Mutely, she reached out and touched his hands. “Aziraphale!”

“It’s _fine_!” he protested.

“Bugger that for a game of soldiers,” she retorted. “You’re freezing.” She hurried over to fetch the folded blanket from the bench by the aisle, shaking it out and draping it around him like a cloak. She rubbed at his arms, searching his face. “Are you going to be all right staying here through the night?”

“It’s one night,” he said, his features taut and exhausted. “I’ll be fine.”

She brushed his cheek, which was just as cold as his hands. “You’re a terrible liar.”

He met her eyes. “What choice do we have, my dear? We _have_ to be here.”

She bit down on a nice juicy ‘fuck’ and straightened up, considering their options. They could hardly make a bonfire to keep Aziraphale warm and a dozen candles weren’t going to do the job any more than the threadbare blanket. She glanced over at the small stools, the only remotely soft surface in the building.

“Right.” She stuck out a hand. “Come with me.”

Aziraphale let her haul him upright. “Where are we going?”

She led him over to the two small footstools, kicking one until it stood against the wall, then booted the other one to rest in front of it.

“I don’t see how kicking the furniture will help.”

She pulled a face at him. “I’m going to keep you warm.” She sat down on the stool against the wall, then leaned forward and unfurled her wings. In the quiet dark they shimmered with reflected candlelight, and she patted the stool in front of her expectantly.

Aziraphale cautiously sat. “My dear, you don’t have–”

“Shush,” she said firmly, wrapping her arm around his middle and pulling him back to rest against her chest. Her wings curled around him in a feathery cocoon and a shiver ran through him as he sagged into her embrace, one of his icy hands finding hers on his chest.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

Crowley’s words dried up in a throat too tight for them and she could only nudge her cheek against his ear, trying hard not to think about the fate that might be waiting for Aziraphale if they failed and trying desperately to avoid the idea of a world without the gift of blankets and meals and laughter in unexpected places.

He must’ve understood, because he squeezed her hand again, drawing it to rest over his throbbing human heart.

For a long time, they sat in silence. Crowley tracked the passage of the moon, the light shifting across the aisles of the church. Once or twice, Aziraphale’s chin started to dip to his chest, but he jolted himself awake.

“S’all right,” she murmured against his ear. “Get some sleep. I’ve got you.”

“You’ll wake me–”

“When it’s time,” she squeezed him. “Rest, okay?”

He made a small, tired sound and was asleep even before his chin hit his chest, his whole body sinking limp in her arms. Soft snores reverberated through him and Crowley wrapped him up as close as she could, rocking him gently, and pressed her eyes closed. It wasn’t _fair_.

“Please,” she whispered to the only person who might be listening. “Please don’t take him away.”

As usual – as _always_ – there was no reply.

The night darkened little by little, and she sat, watching, waiting. Shadows danced strangely on the walls, stretching into the arching buttresses, making painted saints’ eyes glitter eerily. Under her hand, Aziraphale’s chest rose and fell and she toyed with one of his buttons, her cheek resting against the downy fluff of his hair.

Once, twice, he stirred, lifted his head, but drifted back to sleep almost at once.

There was something strangely comforting about his warmth, the closeness of him to her, and despite her misgivings, she cautiously lowered her shields, just a little bit, a sense of happiness and peace washing over her.

“Sentimental idiot,” she whispered, eyes pricking rebelliously. She leaned back a little further, letting him rock back, until his head rested on her shoulder, and rubbed her cheek against his. For a moment, warm and safe and at peace.

A flicker against her shields jolted her awake God only knew how long later. Door rattling. Hinge creaking. Demonic presence at the main doors of the church!

A blood-curdling howl of pain made Aziraphale jerk awake, and she clamped a hand over his mouth, pinning him still with her other hand on his chest.

“Sh,” she breathed against his ear. “He’s here. Front door.”

“Unt or?” Aziraphale’s lips moved against her palm. “Emon?”

“Must’ve missed the memo about sanctified places being off-limits.” She reached out with her senses, but she didn’t really have to when the human-demon thing snarled and smashed a fist through the door and loped away. On his way around the building. Probably trying the other side. “Up.” She unfurled her wings and shoved Aziraphale gently to his feet. “We’re on.”

Aziraphale’s trepidation washed over her, threaded through with hope. “Angel,” he said softly, as they crept across the empty aisles.

“Hm?” She winced at the crash of glass from inside the tower.

“Thank you.”

Crowley tried to make a dismissive sound, flapping a hand. “You’d’ve done the same for me.”

A thoughtful tinge coloured his mood and she hastily stacked up her boundaries again. “Yes,” he murmured as they neared the door. “I would.” He touched her elbow. “Stay near the door. Don’t come in unless you have to.”

She met his eyes. “Be careful.”

He nodded, then darted close, quick as a snake and brushed a kiss to her cheek. “For luck,” he whispered, flushing red as she clapped a hand to her cheek, then pushed open the door and strode into the room. “Excuse me, my good man! I think we need to have a talk!”

“You!” The human’s voice sounded distorted, grinding out like gravel in a bucket. “Begone, demon!”

Dark magic pulse and Crowley hissed at the meaty slap of a body striking something hard and the sharp gasp of breath. “I only want to help!” Aziraphale croaked. “You’ve done me a favour. Only fair I can give you some advice!”

The power waned. “Advice?”

At the edge of the door, Crowley risked a peep around the frame. The circle was pulsing pale red, the sorcerer inside it and her stomach lurched at the sight of a small bundle lying at his feet. Small bundle with a tiny pink face and tiny pink hands. Tangled in swaddling cloth.

Aziraphale swayed into view, hands spread expansively, right into the circle. “D’you think I wanted to stay a demon?” he said, grinning as if he was having the time of his life. “You’ve given me a great gift, my friend. Life and appetites and all the human pleasures.” He swept into an overly extravagant bow, too low, too deep, and his eyes flicked to Crowley’s. “Your servant, master.”

“Serv–”

Aziraphale swept his arm around in a flourish of a bow, hard and fast and the baby skidded across the floor towards the door.

Crowley lunged, diving through the doorway.

“No!” the sorcerer screamed as she grabbed the handful of trailing swaddling cloths, yanked it clear of the circle and _moved_. The world shifted around her, dark to bright and back again and she staggered, crashing down to her knees, hands slamming onto the floor of the apse of St Peter’s cathedral, the bundled baby shielded under the arch of her body.

With trembling hands, she gently prodded the bundle and the baby gave a shrill, frail wail.

Alive! Thank God. Not sacrificed yet, which meant…

She quickly wrapped the baby in the thicker, warmer altar cloth and laid it there for the priests to find, then unfurled her wings and leapt, raising her arms to shield herself as she crashed out through the arched window behind the altar.

Glass showered down around her, glittering like stars as it fell, and she curved out in an arc over the space between the two churches, wheeling around to reach the back of the tower.

The sorcerer must’ve torn his way in through the windows there, the glittering edges like teeth against the coming daylight, and she heard a cry of pain from inside, her heart thundering. She looked around wildly, then grinned, launching herself up and ripping one of the decorative statues from the edge of the roof.

With sweeping strokes of her wings, she lowered herself to the window, stepping delicately in onto the deep sill.

Aziraphale was on the ground on his back in the circle, the sorcerer on top of him, its hands wrapped around his throat, squeezing. Heart slow. Face purpling. Eyes wide, staring. Her world narrowed and there could only be one choice.

She dropped, light and silent, on the very edge of the circle, swung the statue back with all her strength, then threw herself – and swung it – into the circle, letting the force and momentum carry it, even as the dark magic sank its hooks into her.

It hit the sorcerer like an axe, slicing him from Aziraphale’s body with the force and smashing him into the far wall.

Crowley crashed to her knees. Dark. Colder now. So cold. Heart battering as if trying to escape. Breathing hard. Tight. Painful. She clutched at her chest, gasping.

“Angel!” Warm arms around her, steadying. “Fuck! Angel! What did you do?”

She fell against him. Broad. Warm. Safe. Touched his neck. Bruises there. “Had to,” she gasped out.

Around them, the circle glowed brighter, white, blinding.

“Angel,” Aziraphale’s voice broke. “Angel…”

Not, she thought helplessly, her body limp against him, anymore.

“Yes!” The sorcerer. Up again, disjointed and twisted. Not human anymore. Broken up arms outstretched.

She grinned, though it hurt. “No,” she whispered, as the light whirled. She threw herself – as much as she could – against Aziraphale, knocking them flat. Brighter and brighter and exploded out like a star going supernova. Sorcerer hurtled back, smashing into the wall again and the light blinked out. Gone.

“What the hell…” Aziraphale croaked.

“Circle,” she breathed. “Goat-fucking Greek. Singular. Not plural.”

“Ohh.” He struggled to sit up, breathing hard. “Quick. Up, angel. Need you out of here.”

“But–”

“Sacrifice, lamb,” he gasped out, slipping an arm under her shoulder. “What’s purer than a newly-humaned angel?”

Crowley’s heart dropped hard. “Fuck!” Together they staggered towards the door and she cried out in alarm when he threw her through and turned. “Aziraphale!”

“He’s definitely pure demon now,” Aziraphale said, grinning, his teeth pink and bloody. “I know how to handle that.” He snatched the flask from his belt and unstoppered it. “I can deal with that.”

The sorcerer bellowed in outrage, his fractured body lunging towards Aziraphale and Aziraphale hurled the contents of the flask at him. Clear, bight, pure…

“No!” she screamed, scrambling up as the holy water hit the sorcerer in the face.

The bellows of fury turned to screams and Aziraphale staggered back from the circle, the flask dropping from his shaking hands, clattering across the floor. Crowley caught his arm, steadying them both as they stared into the circle as the sorcerer boiled and bubbled and melted away to nothing.

Aziraphale’s whole body shook under her hand. “Jesus Christ…” he breathed.

Crowley squeezed his arm tighter, her eyes burning and overflowing. “Shouldn’t have done that,” she whispered, dropping her head to his shoulder. “S’your demonic essence. S’gone.”

“Mm.” His shivering hand covered hers on his arm.

“You–” Her throat closed up around the words, hurting, burning. “You’re human now.”

He twisted, turned to face her. “You too.” He touched her cheek, gentle, careful. Lifted her face to his. Gave her a small scared smile. “Couldn’t leave you on your own, could I?”

Crowley stared at him. Crying now. Definitely. Not even a little bit. Whole lot. “You idiot,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “You shouldn’t have. Not for me.”

He gently drew her closer and wrapped her up in his arms. “No offence, darling,” he murmured, stroking a hand down her back, “but you did it first.”

She swatted him then yelped when he hissed in pain. “Shit! Are you– is it bad?”

Aziraphale gingerly touched his ribs. “Not sure. Not good, but so far, I can breathe. That’s a good start, isn’t it?”

She nodded, wishing the tears would stop but no. Nice fresh human body was leaking exactly as much as it wanted to. Aziraphale brushed them with her thumb.

“How about we get a drink?” he suggested.

“A drink?” She sniffed hard. “We don’t have any… _anything_!”

He waved around them. “I’m sure they won’t mind if we raid the biscuit tin and wine cellar.”

“I’m sure they will,” she countered, scrubbing at her face with the heel of her hand. But God, a drink sounded like a good idea. “But they’ll just have to cope.”

Aziraphale smiled at her and – for a moment – she could almost believe it would be all right. He took her hand, as if teaching her how to walk. “Come on, angel. I’ll show you were I found their secret hoard.”

_________________________________________________

“S’not bad.”

Crowley rooted around in the pyx, digging out the last of the wafers. Wasn’t quite so dark now and wine was making everything a bit warmer, even if the church was still bloody cold. “Hm?”

Aziraphale held up the empty bottle. “Wine,” he informed her with a hiccup. “S’not bad. Didn’t think it would be nice, if they’re giving it to the peasants.”

“Mm-mm.” She wagged a finger. “S’not for the peasants. Only Priesty ones. Drinks on their behalf.”

Aziraphale blinked at her. “But isn’t it…” He frowned. “Can’t be right. That… cross-boy… whatsisface…”

“Jesus?” Crowley said with a sniff. “Jesus _Christ_. Of Christians?”

“Yeah, him.” Aziraphale poked her. “He _said_ everyone was to drink. Not just… Priesty ones.”

Crowley nodded moodily. “Mm. But they don’t wanna waste money on everyone.” She made a face. “He wouldn’t like that.”

Aziraphale dragged his finger around inside the rim of the bottle. “Who?”

“Jesus,” Crowley said, turning the Pyx upside down and shaking it. “Yeshua. He made fish sandwiches for everyone. _Everyone._ Not just Priesty ones.”

“Mm.” Aziraphale nodded. “Feeding of the five thousand.”

“Mm.” she smiled sleepily. “I gave him the basket.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm-hm.” She dropped the pyx on the step. It went plonk. “Nice boy. Worked hard. Very good sandwiches.”

“Knew him, did you?”

She peered at Aziraphale. “Sort of. You know. The ‘watch over this mortal’ kind of thing.” She frowned. “S’pose I won’t have to do that anymore, eh?”

Sad, that. Strange too. Whole life of doing that and now, all fwoosh. Gone away in a big poof of light cos of some stupid human and his stupid…

Crowley yelped and smacked Aziraphale on the arm. “Fuck!”

He looked all frowny at her. “Angel! We’re in a _church_.”

“The ritual!” She tottered to her feet. “Oh shit! We need…” The world swayed a bit. “Oh… bugger me…”

He reached out, hand on her hip to steady her. “S’over,” he said. “Baby gone, magic-man gone. All good, eh?”

She shook her head and ohhhh, bad idea. “N-n-no.” She waved towards the room. “Circle onna floor. Still all glowy. Wasn’t finished.”

“Won’t be either.” He burped behind his hand. “Scuse me.”

She kicked him in the ankle. “No, no, no!” She spread her arms to steady herself a bit and tried to make her brain do the… think thing. “Ritual had to finish. If it didn’t, s’going to unravel.”

“Unravel?”

She leaned down, grabbing his arm, yanking him up. “Hurry up!”

“Up where?” he complained, staggering to his feet, almost falling over the wine bottles. “M’not finished my biscuits.”

“Sun’s coming up!” she said, waving towards the door. “S’coming!”

“What?”

She felt the circle break. Good sign, yeah. Shouldn’t have been able to sense it. Humans couldn’t. Not big boomy magic like that. She yelped and bent, throwing Aziraphale over her shoulder, yanking both his feet off the floor.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale yelped, clinging to her. “What in Satan’s na…” He made a sound like a hamster being stepped on. “Ooohhhh.”

“Y’feel it?” Crowley gasped, staggering around. Still too human and too bloody drunk for this. She tottered towards the shattered doors of the church. Aziraphale helped, yanking her skirt up over her knees. Easier. Feets out and about.

Together, they hit the broken door, smashing through and out into the morning air. She tripped on a step and fell over and tipped Aziraphale on his arse. Landed right on top of him as well, both of them breathing hard.

“You’re glowy,” Aziraphale said hoarsely, nose an inch from hers. “Angel glowy.”

She groped for her powers, feeling them pulse back through her, and laughed, sobering herself up at once. “Oh… it… it’s back.”

Aziraphale helped her sit up, smiling. “Good.”

“You too?”

He hesitated, then stared at his hands. “Don’t think so. Destroyed it, didn’t I?”

Crowley ran a hand over her face. “No… no, hold on… we did it. We… finished the ritual.”

He shook his head. “No. No baby.”

“Different kind of sacrifice,” she pointed out. “Sacrament.”

He eyed her dubiously. “Getting sloshed on Jesus wine and biscuits?”

“Yes!” She searched his face. “You really don’t feel anything?”

He made a face. “S’not like mine would come back in a church, is it? If it can. I mean, I _smashed_ it.”

“In a church…” She laughed in delight. “That’s it! That has to be it!” She grabbed him by the arm again, hauling him to his feet. “Come with me! I think I know where… you… it… how we get it back!”

Despite his groans and staggering steps, he followed her, though he groped at her arm as she approached the south tower. “Angel, I don’t think that’ll work.”

“Better than doing nothing,” she retorted and scooped him up under the arms, smushing his chest against hers, her wings unfurling around them. He yelped, clinging to her, his eyes wide and bright in the gleam of sunrise. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

A shiver of a smile tripped across his lips. “My guardian angel, eh?”

“Always.” She gave him a squeeze. “Trust me?”

His smile strengthened. “Always.”

Without further ado, she tossed him through the broken window.

“Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii–”

His howl cut off and a sudden implosion sent her spinning through the air. She whipped her wings, steadying herself and circled back around to alight in the broken window, peering down into the gloomy tower.

“Aziraphale? You there?”

A flame flared below, illuminating Aziraphale in the middle of the circle, a ball of hellfire glowing in his hand. The circle had scoured itself away, the entire floor black as charcoal. He looked up at her, serpent’s eyes bright shining blue by the firelight. “I am!”

She sagged against the window frame with relief. “Thank… Someone!”

“In this case,” he called up, “I think your boy and his divine picnic has earned our gratitude.”

“True! Thank Yeshua!” she laughed and jerked her head. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

Aziraphale’s vast cream wings unfurled and he leapt up, joining her in the window. “How on earth did you know that would work?”

She grinned at him. “You need to work on your goat-fucker Greek,” she said. “The transfer of power in the spell was from one vessel to another. There were two powers just floating around. Two of us. Mine came back in the holy place, yours came back in the damned place.”

“But… I destroyed it.”

She shook her head. “It was still bound by the ritual. Destroyed the damned vessel, not the contents.”

He gazed at her, admiration written all over his face and she ducked her head.

“Stop that!”

“You know, my darling, you never stop surprising me.”

“Yeah?” She gave him a crooked smile. “Is that a good thing?”

He reached out and took her hand. “Eternally so.” He lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed them. “Join me for breakfast?”

She hesitated, then leaned forward and kissed him quickly on the cheek, blushing furiously as she drew back. “Yes.”

He blinked owlishly at her. “Really?”

“Well, you _did_ become human for me,” she pointed out with a bashful smile.

He kissed her fingers again. “As did you, my dove,” he reminded her fondly and she could feel the heat all the way to the tips of her ears.

She tilted her hand, threading her fingers through his. “Breakfast, then.”

And together, they leapt, wings overlapping, and soared into the new day.


	2. A What-If Coda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jadetyle left a lovely comment on the main fic and it poked at a quietly-rooted thought that I'd been sitting on of Crowley spending Aziraphale's mortal life with him, if they had failed to get Aziraphale's immortality back and this is what would have happened.
> 
> Warning for mention of character death, but there's a happy ending :)

"I don't understand why I'm here," Crowley said uncertainly. "I haven't- am I in trouble?"

"Not at all," Michael replied, motioning for him to fall into step beside them.

The knot of fear unravelled, leaving the familiar dull ache behind it. For fourteen years, he had bent the rules as carefully as he could for a single human. Maybe not directly all the time, but enough to ensure that Aziraphale had lived a comfortable mortal life, safe and unharmed, as much as he could be for an aging man with poor vision and a weak constitution. For another three years since then, he had waited with baited breath to see if his... misdeed had been caught in the Heavenly audit, but so far...

When a message had come through, commanding his return to Heaven, he'd almost resigned himself to the fact his crimes were about to be punished.

"So..." He prodded carefully, like someone with a loose tooth. "What's this is about?"

Michael glanced at him. "Someone has requested to see you."

"Someone...?" Crowley prompted cautiously.

"Mm." Michael's lips pursed. "This is... unprecedented. We thought it might have happened when The Lady's time came, but when offered the chance to speak with Gabriel again, she declined."

The Lady. Crowley frowned. Again? Which lady had met... ohhhhh. "Maryam?"

"Mm." Michael led him up a white set of marble stairs towards the curving doors that led to the place where the souls of the best of humanity resided. Crowley's heart gave a strange and panicked flutter. "We weren't sure who they were referring to at first, but they were quite emphatic."

"A human." Crowley's heart was in his mouth. "A human wants to see me?"

Michael nodded. "It's very strange," they said. "Most humans find the bliss of Heaven enough, but this one has spent all of his time here tearing up the landscape of his paradise, scrawling messages. We didn't realise they were for us at first, but then, they wrote this in fifty foot letters burned into a hillside in angelic script." They produced an etching.

[ _Let me see the angel Crowley. I know I'm in Heaven and I know you can contact him_ ]

The world trembled under Crowley's feet. "Oh..." he breathed.

"Do you know who this human might be?" Michael murmured.

Crowley nodded, eyes burning. "Yeah. I think so."

"Maybe," they suggested mildly, "you can persuade them to stop setting paradise on fire now that they have your attention?"

Crowley could feel the heat of tears slipping down his face and nodded. "I can try."

Michael studied him, then pushed the doors of the Human Abode open. "Third door on the left," they murmured. "If you choose to return, you know the way."

Crowley nodded, blindly walking down the pillared hallway. Third door. Right. yes. There. He swallowed hard and pushed it open, stepping out into an echo of a church where he had once held a demon in his arms through the night. Only 17 years ago, but it felt like an eternity. His breath caught when someone rattled a tin nearby and he turned on trembling legs.

Aziraphale beamed at him. "I have biscuits," he said, holding up the tin.

Which of them moved first, Crowley couldn't tell, but they crashed into one another's arms in the middle of the church aisle, Aziraphale as warm and solid and _there_ as Crowley remembered. Not old and thin and frail and trembling with palsy in his arms. Not still and grey and wrapped in a shroud. Not dead and gone at all.

"I missed you," he gasped out, fingers digging into Aziraphale's back. "Oh, I missed you so much."

Aziraphale was shaking in his arms, holding him just as tight. "I didn't know if you'd come."

"For you?" Crowley drew back, searching his face, those bright blue human eyes that he had both hated and loved at the same time, the mortal traits that had taken Aziraphale away from him, but now... now, the sign of the humanity that had saved him too. Crowley gave a wet, hiccuping laugh, pressing his brow to Aziraphale's. "Always."

"Dearest..." Aziraphale's voice trembled, his hands stroking in sweeping, gentle circles on Crowley's back. "Will you stay? _Can_ you stay?"

Crowley nodded and smiled through his tears. " _Always_."


End file.
